The Witching Hours of Robin O'Donnell
by MadiDark
Summary: Robin only wanted to be an artist, her mother wanted her to be a lawyer. They were both disappointed- she was to be a witch. Takes place a round the time the Trio comes to Hogwarts, but starts a year or two earlier. My first fanfiction- I welcome critiques, but please be nice. : Rated T to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

Robin O'Donnell's Witching Hours

Chapter One, In Which There Are a Lot of Unusual Incidents

Robin O'Donnell sat across from her mother at the kitchen table, the both of them eating in silence. Every once in a while, she would glance up at her parent, whose steely gaze was riveted on her own small plate of salad. If Lisa O'Donnell was at all aware of her daughter, it was not noticeably apparent, except perhaps through a slight tightening of the lips, a minute furrowing of the brow. Her grip on her cutlery would tighten.

Robin lowered her gaze, resigned, back to her own plate, taking small, tasteless bites of dinner. Her mother was angry, as any person could see. It had been this way for a few weeks now, ever since the Incident.

Even on goods day, Lisa wasn't the most affectionate mother, often sparing only a few words of greeting each day. Any real communication between the mother and daughter was often the bare minimum of necessities- chore list, groceries, appointments- and almost strictly through text; on the computer or via a yellow notepad on the refrigerator door. Lately, however, the verbal greetings had ceased entirely, and the yellow notepad had been blank for nearly a week, now. Robin's mother had been angry at her before, but never to this magnitude- and entirely unreceptive Robin's attempted explanations. _'_He _attacked _me, _I was nowhere _near_ the Bunsen burners, he must have done something- _has _to be lying, mom! There just isn't enough gas supplied to those things for the fire to be that big- it was a freak accident! I never hurt anyone!'_

But the veteran prosecutor could not ignore the facts or the records against her daughter.

Adam Pegler, Student Council member, star athlete, beloved by students and faculty alike, had been found in the secondary school science lab, unconscious, with angry burns covering almost half his forearm. He claimed to have been helping the younger Miss O'Donnell with her assignment to clean up at the end of the school day, - a punishment for having her teacher's hairpiece somehow mysteriously wind up on her desk, in the back corner of the room- when the girl grabbed the remaining Bunsen burners, turned up the gas, and came at him. Robin herself denied ever having touched the hairpiece- '_I was all the way across the room!'_- as well as the incident with the burners.

'_I don't know how it happened! They just suddenly blew up!'_

That much seemed to be true. The room had been in shambles when the two were discovered; he, lying on the floor, and she curled up in a far corner, not a scratch upon her body. It was, to be sure, a puzzling circumstance, but it wasn't the first time Robin had been found guilty of some act of destruction, and Adam seemed genuinely frightened of the girl.

So, the boy was taken at his word, and eleven-year-old Robin was promptly expelled, awaiting a disciplinary hearing at the Juvenile Court.

Her mother was beside herself. The shame of having her own daughter charged with severe vandalism and assault! She had not even bothered to confront her daughter at home, after the primary explanations at the school, but proceeded to act as if she had no daughter. The table was now set only for one, and if Robin needed any money or food, she was on her own. Such was her punishment.

And so, Robin sat at the kitchen table in their small, two-bedroom home, picking dispassionately at a pile of slightly aged leftovers scavenged from the back of the fridge- remnants of the days when Lisa O'Donnell had a daughter. Robin watched her mother eat; she studied the way the electric lighting brought out dark circles beneath the steely eyes, and wondered, for the umpteenth time, how she could possibly explain to her mother that she really had been studying when the hairpiece slid onto her stack of notes. That she hadn't been the one to write rude messages on the blackboard behind the teacher's back. That Adam Pegler had been cornering her with hot eyes and a heavy body when the burners exploded on the table behind him.

Robin's melancholy musings were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. She glanced over, a bit surprised- it was a tad late for visitors.

Possibly to further the establishment of her role as the house's sole inhabitant, Lisa stood sharply, her char scraping the floor, and answered the door before Robin had even set down her napkin.

A severe-looking woman stood on the doorstep, silhouetted by the streetlights behind her. She had sleek, black hair, pulled back in a bun which looked almost painfully tight. Her face was slightly lined, a sign of possibly middle-age, and she scanned the area intelligently from behind thin spectacles. She wore an emerald-green pant-suit, and carried a worn, brown leather handbag.

_Lawyer, _Robin though, recognizing a style similar to her mother's, and her chest contracted painfully. So. They were here for her, now.

"Can I help you?" asked Lisa, in a polite, if not slightly cold tone.

"Yes, I am here to speak to you about the matter of one Robin O'Donnell, if she is in residence."

Robin's stomach flipped.

The sharp woman on the doorstep peered through the doorway, "May I come in?"

Lisa hesitated, though to any who didn't know her well, any hesitation would not have been obvious. She instead appeared to be lightly pondering the question. Coming to a decision, she stepped aside, "Certainly, find yourself a seat at the table. I was just finishing up."

Robin, who occupied the only remaining chair, aside from her mother's, grabbed her plate, intending to flee to the stairwell, resigned to finishing her meal there. She was stopped by a light hand on her arm.

"Why are you leaving? There are plenty of chairs," said the sharp woman, in a tone which seemed almost reprimanding.

"Oh, no, that's my mother's ch-," Robin glanced at the table, and paused, bemused. There were now three chairs at the kitchen table; two, the polished wood she was accustomed to, and one, dark and straight-backed, which she had never seen before. "How…?"

"Ahem!"

Robin and the sharp woman turned to face Lisa O'Donnell, who had cleared away the remaining dinner and now stood, arms crossed, beside her own chair. She made no comment about the new seat which had appeared so suddenly, but merely glared in Robin's direction- not directly at her, for that would mean acknowledging that she was at all connected to the girl- like it had been her doing.

Robin dropped her gaze to the linoleum flooring, while the sharp woman merely gazed calmly at the older O'Donnell. "Shall we not all sit?"

A muscle worked in Lisa's jaw at the reference, potentially inclusive to her daught-…. juvenile tenant. "Certainly." She sat, followed by the sharp visitor.

Robin loitered for a moment, and then eventually resigned to sit- in her own chair, and as far away from the sharp lawyer woman as possible.

The visitor, seemingly unaware of her hostesses' fear- in Robin's case, and chill- in Lisa's case, set her bag upon the table, opened it, and withdrew a sheaf of papers. She scanned them, adjusting her spectacles.

Lisa grew mildly agitated, "Pardon," she asked, her American accent sounding harsh and nasal after the sharp visitor's Irish lilt, "but may I ask whom I have the pleasure of entertaining?"

The other woman looked up, fixing Ms. O'Donnell with sharp eyes, "I am Professor Minerva McGonagall," she replied, "And, as I said, I am here about the matter of your daughter, Miss Robin O'Donnell."

Both O'Donnells flinched, then- Lisa, at the word "daughter", and Robin, at the mention of her own name.

Professor McGonagall continued, "I understand that she has been involved in a great deal of unusual circumstances; one missing hairpiece, the replacement of the scheduled school lunch with birthday cake-"

"Yes, and those issues have been dealt with," Interrupted Lisa, tersely.

The eldest O'Donnell once again found herself skewered upon the razor-like gaze of Professor McGonagall. "Indeed," her tone had dropped in temperature, not really all which warm to begin with, "However, in regards to the matter of the more recent incident with that young boy-"

Once again, Lisa interrupted, "Both the school and the Pegler family have pressed charges. Robin's been expelled and has a disciplinary hearing scheduled for-"

But now it was McGonagall's turn to interrupt, "I'm afraid that that hearing has been cancelled, and those charges, annulled."

Lisa was stunned. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth was slightly open. This slip in composure, however, lasted merely a second, "If you don't mind my asking, exactly how did this come about?" A dangerous edge had crept into her voice.

"You will find that neither the school, nor the Pegler's will have anything further to say on the matter," McGonagall replied, smoothly, "The court appears to have forgotten about the matter altogether. I would think this would come as a relief?"

Robin had been sitting silently through the entirety of the meeting, and could now hardly dare to believe what she was hearing. She had gotten off? How? Had someone finally realized that the whole thing was a freak accident?

"In fact," McGonagall continued, without waiting for Lisa to give an answer, "I believe you will find that all of the unusual instances which have previously been thought to involve Miss Robin have been reanalyzed and excused as mistakes and accidents. As I am sure that is what they are. I highly doubt that you, Miss O'Donnell, intended any of those things to occur."

Robin gave a start, as the sharp Professor addressed her for the first time. "P-please, mam, I really had nothing to do with any of it!"

What was almost a whisper of a smile seemed to twitch across McGonagall's face, so that Robin was almost sure she hadn't seen it at all. "Oh, no, Miss O'Donnell, you most certainly were the cause of each and every one of these incidents, for the simple reason that you are a witch."


	2. Chapter 2

The Witching Hours of Robin O'Donnell

Chapter 2, In Which Robin Sees More Than Her Mother

Robin loved her room. It had been one of the few good things that came about when her mother had moved to Britain the previous year. A contract lawyer's salary was not always so great, but Lisa O'Donnell happened to be a very good lawyer with good connections. This, along with the fact that she had only two mouths to feed and was very frugal, meant that she had a great deal of money set aside, and allowed her daughter to receive a small portion of it. Robin, who, like her mother, wasn't one to spend a lot all at once, found that, even transferred to foreign currency, she had a great deal of money at her disposal, and so spent some of it on an entire makeover of her room.

It looked like an artist's studio, a library, and possibly some sort of shaman's hut. The wide windows were draped with gauze lengths of cloth, chains, and strings of beads, which were regularly used and replaced. The floor had originally been dark, worn wood, but Robin had spent the entirety of their first week in residence moving all of her newly-place furniture onto the upstairs landing, and then (to her mother's relative exasperation) proceeding to scrub and re-polish the floor of the little room until it shone like dull crystal. The furniture had been replaced, and the floor was now covered, in places, with an assortment of woven or Persian rugs in deep or vibrant colors. The walls, previously pale beige, had been washed white, and covered with a scattering of hand-painted murals- a forest, a sea, a gleaming caste on a mountaintop. Everywhere there bookshelves stacked with books, two rows deep, or cabinets full of spools of wire, sketchbooks, paints, and pencils. On every surface in the room there was at least one colorful jar, box, or bowl full of all sorts of oddments, from broken jewelry, to old microchips, to what looked suspiciously like small animal teeth.

Robin was lying on her stomach atop a fluffy throw draped over her twin bed, sorting through what to bring with her on her travel. It would really be a wrench leaving home. She would miss her room, their little town on the outskirts of the city, the grassy hillsides, and, yes, even her mother.

Despite all that had happened, Robin had, over the years, come to a sort of understanding of her mother, who, though she tried, just didn't really know how to be a good mother to her only child. They were, simply, very different people, Robin thought as she carefully folded away one long, flowing back skirt. She knew her mother hadn't really wanted children, nor was she ready. Lisa had had Robin at a fairly young age, a time when Lisa had thought that she had her whole life ahead of her and that her plans and ambitions would be able to move along, unhindered. She had minutely adapted to the existence of her new daughter, and carried on as she had previously. Robin's father, upset by Lisa's dispassionate nature and her refusal to settle down into a family lifestyle, had left. Lisa had turned to no relatives for help, having supported a fierce streak of pride, and instead either brought Robin along to work with her or hired sitters until the girl was old enough to remain at home alone.

Robin, with a lack of many playmates, had learned to read and draw, when she was alone. Later, she joined a yoga studio, a karate dojo, and a few teams, in attempts to increase her social interactions outside of school. She made a few friends, and set up a pretty good life at her old home in Medina, Ohio.

Then, her mother got a job offer with a firm across seas. They had packed up and flown away, leaving Robin's whole world behind.

_I'm switching worlds again_, Robin mused as she tossed a jewelry kit and a more recent sketchbook into her trunk, _only this time, it's to the world of magic. It'll be more of an adventure. And easier, _she felt a guilty twinge, _easier the second time…And without mom._

There was a knock on her door.

"Come in," Robin said, a bit surprised that her mother would come and speak to her. Then again, for whatever reason, ever since Professor McGonagall delivered the news about Robin being a witch, and her acceptance into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Lisa O'Donnell had been a noticeably friendlier toward her daughter. The table was once again set for two, and her mother had even gone so far as to ask Robin about her day a few times when she returned from her office. She had also offered to drive her out to go school shopping, and to pay for any supplies she needed.

The red-haired women pushed open the door and paused, scanning the room.

"Well," She said, taking in the bits of cloth, the animal teeth, "It's not exactly what I would have chosen, but…you like it?"

Robin nodded, and some of her own unruly auburn hair came free of the loose bun she had tied behind her head.

"I suppose that's what matters, then," Robin's mother said, uncertainly.

Robin's heart swelled a bit in her chest, but she knew better than to push to moment too far, "What's up?"

"I came to ask if you were ready to go shopping, yet," Lisa adjusted the sleek bag slung over her tailored shoulder, "I have a meeting and have to be at the office in an hour and a half, so if you're going today…"

"I'm ready right now," Robin hopped to her feet and followed her mother down the stairs and out the door.

The ride into London was relatively quiet and uneventful. The radio played out a wall of white noise between the two females, and they chatted only briefly about the weather and light, midday traffic. The car pulled up in front of the pub described by Professor McGonagall, between a bookstore and a fast-food joint.

Lisa looked confused, "Where is it? She said it was between these two here…"

Robin glanced at her mother, "It is, right there. See? With a black door- The Leaky Cauldron."

Lisa glanced back at her daughter strangely, "Where are you looking?"

"Here," Robin got out of the car and strode to the shop, pointing, but her mother only shook her head. Robin got back in the car, "You know what, its fine. Maybe it's magicked to keep out people who aren't witches or wizards. I can see it, anyways. I'll just go on in so you aren't late- for your meeting."

Lisa O'Donnell pondered the issue for only a short time longer before handing her daughter a wad of pound notes, telling her she would meet her back there at six, then promptly departing.

Robin waved futilely at her mother for a moment, not really expecting a wave back, then pushed open the dark wooden door, and entering the pub.

She knew immediately that she was in the right place. The place was relative full, as it was around lunchtime, and the customers were dressed in a manner she had seen only ever in movies or renaissance fairs. Most sported robes or long dresses, some with various witchy-looking hats atop their heads. Robin felt a tad out of place in her flowing gray skirt and black tank top.

Glancing around, she spotted a very old, toothless man passing out drinks from behind the bar whom she assumed was Tom the barman.

Robin pushed her way through the throng and nervously approached the bar, "Excuse me, are you Tom?"

He gave her a kindly, toothless smile, "Muggle-born? Out to do your shopping for school, I'd reckon? Here, just a mo'."

Tom made a few excuses to the waiting custom, then stepped out from behind the bar and waved her over to a side door Robin hadn't noticed before. She hurried over, overhearing, as she passed, a few words distinguishable from the dull roar of chatter:

"-hag from Brighton."

"-new wand, the old one snapped last week-"

"-Angie's first year, I'm a bit nervous-"

"They upped the price for dragon spleens; five sickles, four knuts-"

"Through here," Tom opened the back door, revealing a disappointingly ordinary back alley. He limped over to the far wall then directed Robin's attention to the bricks above the trashcans. "Third up," He traced with his hand, "Second across."

Tom reached into his robes and Robin's pulse jumped with excitement as he pulled out what was unmistakably a wooden _magic wand._

The old man smiled at her expression, then tapped the bricks with the tip of his wand.

One of the bricks started to move. Robin stared, amazed, as a tiny gap appeared, then grew into a wide archway onto a bustling street which was most certainly not dull or disappointing.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley. Happy shopping. Feel free to stop by after for a bit a' food."

Tom stowed away his wand and returned to the pub. Robin, her stomach churning with excitement, took her first steps out into the wizarding world.


	3. Chapter 3

_I am very happy to say that I have gotten my first review for this story, which I am rewarding with a slightly-early chapter. I know you people are reading this (I'm creeping on you all on my viewers' board.) I won't threaten not to write if I don't get reviews, but they are a great morale booster. The longer the review, the better! _

The Witching Hours of Robin O'Donnell

Chapter 3, In Which There Are a Few Explosions

Robin had never felt comfortable in a crowd, having grown accustomed to a primarily solitary life. For this reason, she hung back a bit, overwhelmed and simply staring at the Alley which lay out before her.

It felt almost like stepping back a century in time. A cobbled road wound its way lazily before her, lined with all manner of unusual shops. There were shops advertising cauldrons, robes, books, and any number of items Robin couldn't identify. And everywhere, everywhere, there were wizards, talking, laughing, gossiping, and advertising their wares. They packed the street so tightly, that Robin was reminded of her old school's hallways after the lunch bell had rung.

In an effort to reorganize herself, Robin stopped goggling at the Alley and pulled out her Hogwarts school supply list:

_**First year students will require:**__  
Three sets of plain works robes (black)  
One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear  
One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)  
One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)  
__**Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags**___

_**All students should have a copy of each of the following:**__  
__The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)__ by Miranda Goshawk  
__A History of Magic__ by Bathilda Bagshot  
__Magical Theory__ by Adalbert Waffling  
__A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration__ by Emeric Switch  
__One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi__ by Phyllida Spore  
__Magical Drafts and Potions__ by Arsenius Jigger  
__Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them__ by Newt Scamander  
__Vanquishing Dark Forces: A Novice-Level Course___

_**OTHER EQUIPMENT**__  
1 wand  
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)  
1 set glass or crystal phials  
1 telescope  
1 set brass scales  
__**Students may also being an owl OR a cat OR a toad**__**  
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS**_

_So,_ Robin thought, _clothes, books, and other stuff._ May as well be systematic about it. She decided to take care of all her necessary supplies first, and then explore more of the Alley. She really did wish she had a map.

Bracing herself, Robin tucked her list back into her black canvas carry bag, and threaded through the crowd in the direction of a large storefront with a diverse display of books, _Flourish and Blot's_, trying her best not to look like the guardian-less, goggling child that she was. Once inside, she relaxed slightly- the crowd here was considerably less dense- and glanced warily around the shop, a bit unsure of where to start looking. Whatever system was used here was quite different from that of any other bookstores she had been to.

"Can I help you?" A slightly harried voice called out from behind the service counter. The shop owner.

"Um, yes please," Robin replied, approaching the counter and adjusting her bag, "I'm here to buy some schoolbooks- I have a list…"

"Don't bother," The manager waved at her dismissively, "First year, is it?"

At Robin's nod of assent, he eased his way out from behind the counter and began grabbing books from various piles around the shop and stacking them in her arms, commenting here and there about so-and-so book or author.

Robin was still quite unused to wizard money, but she paid for her books, and left the shop. Feeling the weight and bulk of the heavy books in her bag, Robin glanced around, seeing a few other people carrying books in cauldrons, and decided she knew what she was buying next. It took a bit of navigation, but Robin finally managed to find a shop which sold cauldrons, the manager of which kindly pointed out where she might go to find potion-making supplies, etc. Buying robes was rather interesting, as she had her first real encounter with another witch her age who, admittedly, did nothing but glance at her, before staring resolutely forward, a slightly sour look on her face. Robin fretted over the incident for a while, before deciding to let it go. She supposed even the magical community had its grouches.

Last on her list was a wand. Robin asked the kindly woman at the robes shop where she might purchase one, and, arms heavily laden with shopping bags, set off back down Diagon Alley. Now that the initial shock of seeing the place had worn off, Robin paid more attention to her fellow pedestrians, many of whom were her age or a bit older. In front of a cauldron shop with her parents, a tall black girl browsed over a list of supplies similar to Robin's own. A rather large boy stood talking with an equally large friend a little ways down the street. In front of a shop advertising broomsticks, two red-haired boys stood in a huddle with another boy, chatting animatedly. This particular shop intrigued her. Witches flew on broomsticks, didn't they? She promised herself that she would stop by there after purchasing a wand.

The wand shop, _Ollivander's_, stood at the far end of the street, nestled between a few off-brand bookstores and smaller shops. It was surprisingly uncrowded. In contrast with the other, more colorful display windows, this shop advertised only a single old wand on a dusty pillow. When Robin pushed the door open with her free arm, she heard a bell tinkling in the depths of the shop. Sound seemed to be cut off from the outside the moment the door shut behind her. The air here was thick with dust.

Robin carefully set down her bags and cauldron in a corner by the door and glanced around. The shop was surprisingly small and unfurnished, with only a single chair and till by the door. The far wall, however, was stacked high with small, slim boxes, as dust-covered as everything else here, as if nothing had been touched for a decade. Cautiously, she approached the boxes and ran her fingers along their edges.

"It is the wand that chooses the witch."

Robin jumped, jerking her hand away from the wall of boxes, and spun around. She had not heard the old man approach.

"Sorry," she said automatically, hands curling nervously at her naval, "I'm Robin O'Donnell. Are you Mr. Ollivander?"

The man's mouth twitched in something reminiscent of a smile, "Indeed I am. Here to purchase your first wand? Wait here a moment."

Robin stood where she was, still nervous, while Ollivander disappeared into a back room. He returned with a tape measure, and began measuring her height, head-width, and the space between her eyes. She tried not to goggle too much when she noticed that the measure was moving of its own accord.

"As I said before, it is really the wand that chooses the witch," Ollivander informed her, moving down the stacks of boxes and picking out a few of the dull, slim boxes, "It's not always clear why. A shorter witch may be matched with a longer or shorter wand. A powerful wand may or may not choose a more powerful owner. However, a wand, once its allegiance has been won, will not work nearly so well for anyone else as for its original partner, though it varies with the wand or wand wood. That's enough." He gestured at the tape measure, previously busy measuring around each of Robin's wrists, which now rolled up with a whirring snap, and dropped to the floor.

Robin suppressed a giggle at the antics of the inanimate object, as Ollivander continued.

"Ollivander wands are made from only the most time-tested of wand-tree woods. Each is unique and possesses a core of unicorn hair, phoenix feather, or dragon heartstring. Try this," He had stacked a few of the wand boxes on the floor beside Robin, and chose one of them. Opening the lid carefully, he presented her with a wand, "Willow and unicorn hair. Nine inches, unbending."

Gingerly, Robin took the wand from him, but it was almost immediately snatched back.

"No, no. Clearly not," Ollivander muttered, and drew out another wand, "Rowan and unicorn hair. Eight and a half inches, rigid."

Robin was allowed to wave this once a bit, before Ollivander had swapped it for another wand- "Acacia, unicorn hair, eight inches, and rather brittle,"- which Robin held for just a moment when it promptly exploded in a flash of light, showering both her and Mister Ollivander with splinters. The latter of which looked mildly surprised, which was nothing to the look on Robin's face.

"Alright then," Ollivander gathered up nearly all of the boxes he had chosen previously, and returned them to their shelves.

"I'm-I'm sorry!" Robin's fingers were again knotted in front of her abdomen, "I can pay for-"

"Don't worry yourself, Miss," Ollivander replied, returning with a fresh stack of boxes, "It was a rather temperamental wand to begin with. One of my predecessors' creations. I'm a bit glad to be rid of it, to be honest. Been sitting there for years, probably felt neglected. No, we'll just have to try you on some different wands."

Robin was much more ginger with each new wand Ollivander passed her, half expecting each to explode once more between her fingers. Ollivander seemed to have given up any pretense of a pattern, presenting Robin with wands ranging from eight to thirteen inches, of varying cores and flexibilities. Robin began to worry. What if no wand "chose" her, as Ollivander put it? She would have to go to school wand-less, or perhaps they wouldn't let her in at all.

Ollivander opened what felt like the millionth box and presented Robin with a fresh wand, "Walnut and phoenix feather. Ten inches. _Unyielding_."

Gingerly, Robin took the wand from Ollivander's gnarled old hand, and had the strangest realization that this was her wand. It warmed in her hand, shooting out a faint stream of blue light. She smiled down at the wand, then up at Mr. Ollivander, who smiled.

"It seems there's more to you than first meets the eye," he said mysteriously, and Robin smiled even wider, "Good luck at Hogwarts."

She paid for her wand and left the dingy old shop, feeling as if she were returning to the world after a brief absence. Glancing at her watch, Robin saw that she had just over an hour before she was supposed to meet her mom, and so set out back Diagon Alley. She looked around a bit, before choosing a random store to browse through, and opening the door.

Robin was flying backwards, and she registered a loud _boom_ a moment later. She landed hard on her back, her head cracking against the cobbled street and her bags flying out of her arms.

…_And now I punish you all with a cliffhanger ending. You may not care, if you didn't like the story. Let me know? -__**Madi**_


End file.
